


Of Dreams and Flowers

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Baby!Pazzolivo, Beware of sugar overdose, Fluff fluff fluffity fluff, Like Whoa, M/M, Puppy Love, Say it with flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giampi must be dreaming. It must be a dream, because there is no way a boy can be that pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dreams and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> So tumblr gave me a prompt (["Imagine your OTP as children, with Person A shyly giving Person B a flower."](http://imagineyour-otp.tumblr.com/post/49794923570/imagine-your-otp-as-children-with-person-a-shyly)) and I took it because I needed something to get me writing again.
> 
> Takes place when Pazzolivo were around 7-8 years old, pretty soon after Monto joined Atalanta. Please note that Pazzo joined their youth team only seven years later, and I have no idea where he played prior to that.

Giampi must be dreaming.  
  
He closes his eyes and shakes his head to make the enticing sight go away.  
  
No, the boy is still there. Giampi is still dreaming.  
  
It must be a dream, because there is no way a boy can be that pretty.  
  
“Pinch me,” he tells his classmate, the one who asked Giampi to come to this game in the first place, because his brother is playing for the local team. The friend looks at him like he has gone crazy, but pinches him anyways.  
  
It hurts, so Giampi is awake, and yet the boy is still there, his too big Atalanta jersey making him look even smaller than he actually is – which is _small_ , probably a head shorter than the rest of the boys on the pitch.  
  
The visiting club wins and Giampi is secretly pleased, because seeing his pretty boy jumping up and down in excitement, his blue eyes shining with happiness, makes Giampi feel weirdly warm inside.  
  
He needs to say something to the boy. He needs to do something to make him remember Giampi when he returns home with his team, because it would be unfair if Giampi was the only one remembering.  
  
Giampi finds a small flower growing by the stands – some kind of a daisy, he remembers from biology class – and picks it up carefully.  
  
If you like someone, you should give them flowers, Giampi’s mom had told him when his dad came home with a bouquet the other day. He does not quite understand it, but obviously the adults know better.  
  
The visiting team has disappeared into the dressing room, but Giampi waits patiently, ignoring his classmate who is grumbling next to him that they are going to miss the bus.  
  
He will take the next one, after he has talked to his pretty blue-eyed crush.  
  
His friend leaves him there, going to find his brother in the home team’s dressing rooms.  
  
The boy is almost the last one to leave the dressing room, walking out together with two other boys and their coach. He notices Giampi only when he steps right in front of him, blushing furiously, gripping the silly little flower in his fingers.  
  
He is even prettier up close – all huge blue eyes and pouty mouth and tousled dark curls – and suddenly Giampi cannot remember what he was about to say.  
  
The pretty eyes widen in surprise when Giampi offers the flower to him without a word, his blush spreading all the way up to his ears, making them feel like burning.  
  
Giampi wants to run away, hide from his pretty boy and his teammates who are starting to snigger quietly behind the boy’s back.  
  
Then the boy beams up at Giampi, meeting his eyes and taking the flower from his hand gingerly, “Thanks! Do you play football too?”  
  
“Yeah,” Giampi manages to splutter. The boy’s smile is almost blinding, and it makes no difference even if he is missing a couple of his milk teeth, “But I’m not that good.”  
  
The boy is turning the daisy in his hands, studying it curiously, before looking up at Giampi again, “You look like you’re good, though.”  
  
“Well I’m not,” Giampi assures him, and finally he can feel his nervousness is subsiding. The boy’s teammates have started walking again, giving Giampi amused looks before leaving them alone, “You’re very pretty.”  
  
Now it is the boy’s turn to blush, and he shies away from Giampi’s gaze, looking down at the flower again. Giampi can just about see the shy smile lingering on his lips.  
  
“Riccardo, we need to get going!” the coach is calling for the boy from the bus door, “Time to say bye to your new friend.”  
  
“Maybe we’ll play against each other sometime?”  
  
The boy – Riccardo – is looking at Giampi with such hopeful eyes that there is really just one possible answer to his question, “Yeah, definitely.”  
  
“It’s a promise,” Riccardo smiles at him as he starts towards the bus, turning around to walk backwards so he is still facing Giampi, “I’ll be waiting.”  
  
“Me too,” Giampi whispers when Riccardo climbs into the bus, waving at him one last time as he takes a seat near the front. Giampi realizes he never told Riccardo his name only when the bus disappears from the view.  
  
But it does not really matter, because Giampi will tell him when they meet the next time – when he is good enough to play against Riccardo, just like they promised.  
  
Maybe next time he will find a blue flower. Blue for his pretty, blue-eyed, adorable Riccardo.  
  
For Riccardo who was not a dream.


End file.
